Mirrormere
by Myrielle
Summary: Through her, he learns more of himself. Some things there are which may not be denied.


_Disclaimer: Don't own anything except for my OC; all else belongs to Bethesda. No profit made from this either._

_Summary: Through her, he learns more of himself. Some things there are which may not be denied._

_A/N: Although I killed him off way to early in my game, I realised he is a pretty intriguing Mer after all. This is my take on Ondolemar and what makes the guy tick.  
><em>

**Mirrormere**

The sky was a sea of smouldering grey, its clouds still low and hanging, pregnant with rain even as they lashed the land along with all its miserable inhabitants who had the misfortune of having no roof over their head. Usually the Nightingale Hood kept her warm; on the rare hot day it could be suffocating. Today though, it was a godsend as it kept the rain from running into her eyes and hair. Without it, she would have been freezing, Nord blood or no.

Actually, the storm itself was a blessing too. It was the only reason why she had not commanded the weather to clear. Aerindis, or Rinn as she was commonly known amongst her thieving brethren, had been stalked by a Brotherhood assassin for days now and the slippery bastard had gotten the drop on her. Twice. That she had lived was a testament to Nocturnal's faithfulness (as Rinn, reckoned, she had practically sold her soul to the Daedra so she had damned well receive some benefits) and also to the training she had received from her Riften colleagues. 'Maybe I should have thought twice before killing that blond bitch,' Rinn thought regretfully, sighing beneath her mask. That had been thieves' luck too, starting with the moment when she had absorbed and unlocked the first word for 'Time'. The Shout had bought her a few moments. The pale assassin had remained frozen atop the bookshelf even though her slanted eyes went wide with panic and the realisation that the thief was no ordinary woman. It was a revelation that came too late even as Rinn hurled the glass dagger strapped to her side and the blade hit home, sinking deeply into the assassin's skull as it shattered her forehead before bursting into flames. "That's for underestimating me," Rinn whispered grimly as she retrieved her weapon.

As she crossed the bridge, Rinn kept her body low and pressed to the stone. In spite of the thick curtains of rain, she was not taking any chances, even if the awkward position made her tired bones ache in protest. 'Maybe I ought to have killed all three of the hostages anyway,' she thought grimly. In all likelihood one of them must have blabbed about what happened even though she had made them keep their blindfolds on after cutting their bonds. Exasperation arose at once; there was just no point in entertaining useless thoughts just to vent her anger. If she had had such a cruel streak within, being hunted by the Brotherhood would not be happening in the first place.

Or perhaps the assassin following her had hunted them down and extracted the truth. If he had managed to track her from that godforsaken hut to Markarth, he would surely have been able to hunt down a cowardly sellsword or that bloody boastful Khajiit who just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. And a goodwife, feisty as she might be, would know little of how to hide from the Brotherhood.

The stretch before her offered no covering, no trees to hide behind or no rock formations to slink and blend against. She would have to run for it and pray neither arrow nor lightning found its mark in her. All she needed to do was make it past those massive gates….

Rinn fled, a grey black shadow amidst pouring silver, fleeting and fast as the thunder pounded the air, seemingly in time with the rhythm of her steps on the ground. Or maybe it was just her heart in her ears as adrenaline made her blood roar and inside, she felt her dragon soul stir to life. There was a wildness in the wind, in its rise and fall and in the cadence of its shrieks as it called to her, demanding she turn around and face the opponent she had yet to lay eyes upon. Pride, hot and foolish but oh so intoxicating welled up from a part inside that she had yet to fully acknowledge and as she threw herself against the bronzed gates and felt them grate open, she swallowed the urge to roar a defiant challenge to the one who would take her life…

Panting, she squeezed herself through the opening before pushing hard on them, shutting them once more. Ignoring the quizzical looks of the wet and shivering guards, she hurried on. There was only one place in Markarth that she had thought of as being safe, one place where an assassin might think twice about infiltrating. It was a place where she might recover in, where she could plan from.

As she hurried up the seemingly endless flights of steps, she felt the dragon inside settle as the pounding receded. "Thank Talos," she muttered. It would never do to face him, not while she was that ruffled. Friendly as he was, Ondolemar was still an Altmer and she was a Nord. That she was the Dragonborn was a secret that had to remain as such. There was no telling what he might want with her. Rinn was already beginning to conclude that the Daedric Princes wanted her as a feather in their caps. She had already been accosted by Namira, coerced by circumstances into pledging herself to Nocturnal, made the champion of Meridia and Mehrunes Dagon had set two Dremora on her for refusing to slaughter the hapless Silus. The memory of that particular encounter filled her with shame; she had grabbed the Imperial mage and ran screaming down the mountain. She was not looking forward to meeting any other Daedric Princes although she suspected she would have little say in the matter.

For once, she wanted to be with someone who wasn't interested in her status or pedigree as the Dragonborn. For some reason, he was the first person that sprang to mind whenever such longing overtook her. As she stepped into the massive castle that was Understone Keep, her gaze shifted up. There was no movement in the shadows and light that lay before the room that led to the Mournful Throne, at least none caused by an imposingly tall and slim Altmer who carried a mace by his side as he walked the halls, adorned in gold and black.

In spite of the fact that she was cold, somewhat damp and hungry from being on the run for the past week, Rinn smiled. She knew exactly where to find him.

* * *

><p>Usually he would have been awake and tending to business. However, the storm, which had begun in the early hours of the morning, had showed no signs of easing and the chill had cast a pall of sorts over Markarth. Citizens hid in their homes and travellers in the inns. The guards did their patrolling but tried to keep to the sheltered areas as much as they could. And here in this massive half-ruin of a keep, the cold had crept in through the stonewalls. Igmund's hounds had made for the hearth of his private room; the usual denizens that occupied this space wore extra clothing and kept to their rooms. Eventually the cold and the general stillness had driven him to his rooms to nurse some Colovian brandy and look at the never-ending stream of documents that were delivered to him on a weekly basis, courtesy of his superior up north. Too little sleep, a bit too much brandy and too many boring contracts had conspired to brew enough fatigue to send him to the bed in search of some rest. Just forty winks, enough to take the edge of the tiredness…<p>

When he awoke, it was to the smell of freshly cut cheese and the sound of someone drinking none too quietly; he could hear the wet smack of lips leaving the rim of a bottle. His first instinct was to grab his mace and pounce on the intruder before crushing them into smithereens. Logic kicked in a scant second after. Obviously the intruder did not want him dead. As such, they were unlikely to kill him the moment he awakened. Therefore he would not move to the offensive. Yet.

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

He knew that voice. A sliver of a thrill surged through him and Ondolemar forcibly suppressed the excitement that threatened to erupt. He despised his weakness and moments such as these reminded him of just how much he did. "Just the Nord I've been wanting to see," he said quietly, sitting up and slipping his feet back onto the ground. It felt solid enough; this probably wasn't a dream.

Dark leather armour lay spread out on the table. She occupied two chairs in front of the hearth, slouching herself comfortably in one while her booted feet rested on the other. In one hand she held a slice of bread thickly spread with cheese, the other was occupied with…

"That's my Colovian brandy."

She flashed him a crooked grin and tipped the bottle in his direction. "I congratulate you on your impeccable taste," she said cheerfully before downing some more of the precious contents. He watched the subtle movements of her bare throat, noted the way her partially damp black hair curled against the white of her shirt. The laces fastening her collar were only partially done, allowing glimpses of delicate collarbone and pale skin turned gold by the fire's light.

"Thievery on top of intruding. I might even get them to consider threatening the life of a Justiciar. I wonder how long they'll keep you in jail for multiple crimes."

"Can't wait to see me in chains, can you?" Rinn eyed him from beneath her lashes. The tall Altmer merely blinked at her. With a loud sigh, she drew up her legs and hooked one over the other, completely aware that the action would cause her already fitting breeches to mould even more tightly against her form. Rinn was merely pretty at best, she knew that very well. And perhaps without life as the Dragonborn, her figure might have gone to plumpness without the constant running for her life and the need to hone her skills with the blade and dagger she favoured. But a year on the road and being constantly involved in adventure, tomb raiding and general mayhem as the official Leader of the Thieves Guild kept her fit and toned. As a result, she had all the curves without the fat, and a body that could stop the thoughts in a man's head. At least, that was according to a semi-drunken Delvin and an overly ardent Rune, who had said something more or less similar when he tried to worm his way beneath her undergarments. "Back to being the prim and proper Justiciar I see. So why'd you want to see me? I bet you missed me. Everyone here is so boring."

She was teasing him. And he was going to take the bait, in spite of the fact that he knew better. "You mean they aren't irreverent wenches with a total disregard for the law."

"You don't always have to be so serious. Overcompensating will give the game away—" Talos, but he could move fast. Her eye had flicked to the fire as it hissed over a half-consumed log and the next thing she knew, he was at the table and settling into the other chair. His green eyes were as bright as she remembered but even in sleep he had worn his Justiciar's robes and the hood covered his hair.

He arched a fine brow at the winsome thief who was deliberately displaying herself before him in such an appealing fashion. Granted, there had always been a slight frisson of something (what it was, he refused to consider, let alone define) between them, especially when she had found the old skald's Amulet of Talos for him. But the furthest he had ever gone was to go along with that so-called joke she had played, a moment of madness that he had paid for with a mild inquisition from Elenwen. Aerindis had always flirted with him—deliberately, at least he thought so—he openly looked down on Nords. She had never been so blatant about it or so bold with him before.

"Something is wrong. What is it that has you on edge?"

Instantly her blue eyes hardened before despair melted them. "Nothing gets by you, does it?" she murmured softly and he caught the slightest hint of a quaver in her voice.

He repaid her compliment with patient silence. When she saw that he was not going to budge, she gave in. "An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood has been tracking me." Across the table from her, Ondolemar stiffened.

"And the first place you thought to seek sanctuary at was my quarters?"

Well, when he put it that way… Hurt flashed through Rinn, followed by anger at herself for being hurt in the first place. "I did not mean to bring danger to you. I was in the area and this was the one place I thought the assassin would not follow me to. I apologise—"

She was getting ready to get up and leave. "That was not what I meant. I only wondered why you did not seek safety with your brethren at Riften." She tried to hide the relief that flooded her face by looking away and he wondered what it was that frightened her so. "You cannot take him?"

"He, or she for all I know, has not come to me in open combat. He strikes from the shadows and I cannot shake him off no matter what I do. He's found me, from across half of Skyrim and I didn't know he was following until the first arrow went past my face. The second and third were lodged in my shoulder and thigh."

That made his blood run cold. "He or she sounds fairly formidable. Too quick even for a Nightingale." As expected, her brows rose and the look in her eye was best described as a glower that demanded an immediate explanation. "We make it our business to know all that goes on in this Empire. Even if it is related to rumours and legends. Besides, the Thalmor have encountered Nightingales before and your armour is not unknown to us."

The armour was one thing but the power granted to her by Nocturnal was another. She wondered if he knew about that as well. As much as his knowledge impressed, it also unnerved. He had probably gauged what she was capable of based on the information she had been giving out, probably far too freely. Perhaps changing the subject would be best, for now.

"I take it Elenwen didn't like my little prank and came knocking on your door to find out what you knew about it."

"Nothing gets by you, does it?"

In spite of the tension, Rinn smiled. "She couldn't have been too pleased with me rifling through her records and filching some of them. I didn't hurt anyone though." She had even saved Etienne Rarnis from prolonged torture and a painful death.

"You do realise that I could have you arrested for that confession."

"You don't need a confession from me, Ondolemar. You're smart enough to put two and two together. If you wanted to arrest me, you'd already have tried to."

He quirked a pale golden brow at her. "Tried to?"

She gave him a look from beneath those thick dark lashes that made his heart jump. Just a little, he assured himself. "Give a girl some credit, dear Justiciar. After all, no one knows you like I do."

There were so many reasons why he ought to despise her. She was a Nord and a thief to boot. She had sold out Ogmund, a fellow man of her race, for septims. Thanks to her, the pall of Elenwen's suspicion rested on him, although the female Altmer had been unable to prove his part in the thief's raid on the embassy.

But no one made dreary Markarth seem exciting, except for her. And then there was that comment about overcompensating. That had hit far too close to home. She was shameless about flirting; he'd seen her use honeyed words and her good looks to reduce guards to quavering messes who then let her slip through their fingertips with a small bribe. Instead of disgust, her antics amused him.

"You flatter yourself, Aerindis."

Tilting her head back, she laughed. "Someone has to. Besides, who else knows you wear two faces? All your fellow Thalmor see is what you show them on a daily basis."

"You will explain that remark now." This time, the pulse leapt in his throat and he could not deny the faint anxiety that her words caused.

"Do I get to stay?"

Reaching out, he snagged the other bottle of Colovian brandy and pulled it out of her reach. "You know perfectly well I would not throw you out. Which is why you have proceeded to make yourself at home."

Shifting in her chair so that she faced him directly, Rinn scanned the rest of the room. "It's not exactly home." She would cut her tongue out before she gave him the exact location. "But it's not too bad." Her eyes lighted on him and she took another sip from the bottle. "I could get used to this."

So could he. It was a pity that she would not stay long. And even if she could, he would not let her. That would be unthinkable. 'Unthinkable, but not without appeal,' he thought wistfully as he watched the fire work its way through the wood, pretending that her gaze was not on him.


End file.
